


Out of the Woods

by relativelystupid



Series: What Do I Have Here? [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relativelystupid/pseuds/relativelystupid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both knew what they wanted at that time. At that very moment, he knew he was Derek’s, and Derek was his. </p>
<p>Fully, truthfully, but it would never be that way forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> all the usual disclaimers, I guess. Plot is mine, though.

Out of the Woods  
It was all falling apart for him.

Maybe for Derek, too, but more so for him.

Why, you might ask. He’s not sure himself, because he was lost. He was lost, and so was Derek. Mostly him, and not Derek. He loves him. He loves him very, very much. He’d like to think Derek did, too, but he… he didn’t. He did, a long, long time ago, when they watched Star Wars together on Derek’s couch, with him pressed back against the taller man, laughing and pestering each other restlessly, when he would raise his camera and take pictures of them, but Derek didn’t like that, he wasn’t really that romantic, not quite affectionate, not quite feeling. He chalked it up to Derek being someone who had a long line of luggage, and he knew what he was going into when they shared that first kiss, with him pressed up against the most uncomfortable, ridged wall, his hands scrambling to take a hold of Derek’s neck, slipping his arms around him, crying into the hard press of lips, wondering if he could ever let go now that his heart’s been stabbed clean through. 

But it was falling apart. 

He still remembers him and Derek waltzing to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love, they had pushed away the couches, wine bottles littered on the floor, pizza boxes piled in a way the two of them would both agree to call art. Derek’s hand was pressing him to his chest, fingers rubbing into the small dip of his back, his other hand entwined with his, and the other, smaller man’s hand was making soft circles into the back of Derek’s neck, a tiny, effervescent and ethereal notion for Derek. Derek had told him that night that he was it for him. But they both knew, not at that exact moment, though, that it was a dirty lie. A dirty, dirty lie. They both knew what they wanted at that time. At that very moment, he knew he was Derek’s, and Derek was his. Fully, truthfully, but it would never be that way forever. 

Lydia was their number one fan. She had always believed they were infinity, more so than her and her girlfriend, and they were married now, with two beautiful daughters. She was the hot-shot, ice cold lawyer to her wife’s creative, bubbly photographer, and he was so fucking jealous. They were the Maggie Greene and Glenn Rhee to him and Derek’s Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler. So beautiful in peril, to their doomed, scam of a relationship. He hates them. But he can’t. Lydia’s wife, Lee, always took pictures of them and framed it, dropping it by their house without their knowledge, and Lydia— ever the Ice Queen, had berated her thoroughly and irrevocably as she stated it was creepy, and he… agreed, if the pictures weren’t so good, he would hate Lee. But it wasn’t. They were beautiful to the brim, with him honey-eyed and grinning, Derek’s pale eyes intense and loving as he dipped him into a kiss. It was at Jackson’s birthday and they were adamant to outshine the asinine couple of him and Ethan, with Allison and Scott clapping like seals in the background. They were… colourful. 

Everything falls apart. No matter what elysian field you may have concocted, someone will bite the forbidden fruit and you’ll be cast out, parched for truth and redemption. 

Everything needs to be set free. Freed. Because sometimes, your arms turn into cages. 

Both of them were paper planes flying in the rain, soaked and tired, dropped soggy to the ground, never to recover, there until they were washed away for good, nothing but pieces left behind. Derek was his falling leaves in the woods, beautiful and just there, but crumpled in its own gorgeousness. He still remembers that one night he and Derek were fighting, because the well stitched shirt of their relationship was being torn to shreds, and it was bold, daring naked, stripping him clean and bare, and leaving claw marks all over his body. Then there were flashing lights, someone screaming his name, and him stopped, shocked into silence, eyes focused on his lover, who had his pale blues turning to him, expressing what he could not say. 

He knew they were… finished. 

He sat by his bed, not quite touching him, not quite near him, not quite feeling. He thumbed the necklace Derek had given him, a small ruby red stone as the pendant, Derek’s eyes as they shared the most intimate moments of their always, and he felt a tear escape his eye. Should he be strong? Stay, until he rises and leaves? Or cut the chase. Amputate the heart from the body. It would be easier. 

He said his name, small and weak, and their hearts skipped a beat. 

He needed to let him go. 

He needs to. 

Tears began in Derek’s stormy, ice blue and forest green eyes, and he felt himself begin to cry, too. But he couldn’t reciprocate the proverbial hand stretching out to touch his pale, constellation filled skin, because it would bury the guilt and pain even harder and deeper through his body. This was their ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ moment. And it wasn’t like the movies pertained. It’s not painful. It’s horrifying and it tears you inside out, beginning like a shot of heroin, you think you’re high, but then you come crashing, down, down, down, and you choke in your own vomit. He couldn’t take it. Derek did, too, but more so for him. Their love was a fairy tale for masochists. They were both murderers who killed each other in the love they thought infinite and steadfast. 

He discovered their bright, neon love, and the dark, dripping disgusting forest that will always get between them. 

There were so many layers, so many trees.

Paige, Kate, Jennifer, Adelaide, Tori, and now, Stiles. 

He discovered that he’ll never get out of those woods. 

But he looks at Derek, his arm stitched, his lip bruised, his eyes still so intense. The shadows fade, yes. Sunrise begins to break through, and he saw that paved road out to the clearing. Their thick trees were only sticks made harsh by the shadows, and he looked right back at Derek. The man he’ll always love, no matter what happens. But the sun will always go down, snow will drop on his shoulders and chill him to his spine, and if this continued, the light of the moon will never be enough to save them.

He’s Derek Hale’s last tree. 

He’s Stiles Stilinski.


End file.
